Let It Burn/Two
An empire's fall in just one day You close your eyes and the glory fades ready, aim, fire - imagine dragons ---- '"THERE '''will be Summons tonight," Bracken said. He was seated against the back wall of the dugout, with Gale and Ray perched on either side of him, wearing identical expressions of contentment. Phoenix and Elliot sat across from them, Phoenix looking grave and Elliot graver still. "Summons?" said Phoenix. The cats of the West End of The Crater rarely got together, save to discuss very important matters; when such an issue arose, there would be Summons, with messengers sent out to everyone. Then they would all meet at sundown, beside the still waters of the small Xylite Pond, and everyone would talk at once and yell and they would usually make no progress as to actually solving the issue. But Summons were for ''very serious things. The cats of West End were not friends; they were each other's competition. Only absolute danger would force them together. So a Summons for a fire geyser eruption, which was a fairly common event in The Crater, seemed really stupid and unnecessary--even considering the fact that last night's fire had lead to two deaths. Robin and Killian were as well-liked as it was possible to be in this harsh world, but the fact remained nevertheless that their deaths meant two less mouths to feed, two more shares of prey for the rest of the West End cats... "What is the Gathering concerning?" Phoenix asked Bracken. He hesitated. "Don't panic." "I'm not exactly the type to panic, Father," she said wryly, the hint of a smile threatening at her mouth--a smile that quickly died when she saw the expression in his eyes. "Continue," she mumbled hastily. He gulped. "Firefever is back." Elliot flinched so hard that he knocked into Phoenix, who was too busy staring goggle-eyed at her father to notice. "WHAT?" "Inside voice, Phoenix," grumbled Ray. Bracken looked at his two youngest daughters. "Gale, Ray, would you mind popping outside and getting some fresh grass for my nest? I'm really tired..." "But we want to listen-" began Gale, but she broke off as Ray elbowed her. The two of them trotted out of the den, Gale still muttering mutinously. Phoenix turned on Bracken. "You can't be serious." "It can't be true. It's probably not confirmed, just a rumor-" stuttered Elliot, looking like he'd been hit in the face with a pan of rockroot. "It's been confirmed. Firefever's symptoms are unmistakable, you know that," said Bracken severely. "The infected will die in a moon." "When you say the infected-" "Three. A mother, her kit, and a cat who lives nearby. East End." Elliot closed his eyes like he was fighting the urge to vomit. "They've been quarantined in the Stockade, but the other quadrants are clamoring for the entire East End to be cut off. North End is particularly angry--you know they're close to the Peak cats, and the Peak cats will'' not'' be happy to hear firefever's back... they already view all Crater cats as filthy." Bracken scowled blackly. Phoenix rather thought that her father's resentment of the Peak cats' arrogant attitudes took second place to the return of a killer disease, but she didn't voice this directly. "So that's what the Gathering is about?" she quavered. "To discuss what to do about the infected?" "Yes." Bracken frowned. "This will bring out the worst in cats, mark my words. But Phoenix, you must go." "Me? What about you?" "Are you kidding? Everyone hates me." She blinked at her father. "But you--you always say... you never steal from cats of the West End, only the other quadrants of The Crater... no one here hates you." Bracken said nothing, only gave her a sad little smile. "I've made a lot of enemies, Phoenix. I can't stay. I have to pick up Carter--he's mourning his parents' ashes--and find the others, and then we will be off again." "Gale and Ray will be crushed that you're leaving again so soon," Phoenix mumbled dully; she was shaken by the fact that her father had been stealing from cats of their home quadrant. Tonight, when she went to the Gathering... could she look at anyone's face and, seeing a scratch or scrape, avoid wondering whether it was her father who had dealt the cat it? If anyone reported a neighbor starving, she would wonder whether it was Bracken who had taken their food, their last hope... Wonder if the mouse her father had brought home for her, that she'd eaten so greedily, could've fed someone who needed it more... Stop this madness. We do what we have to survive. No more, but definitely no less, she chided herself. "I'm going to say good bye to your sisters... Take care, Phoenix. Peace to you." "Peace to you," she managed. Bracken hesitated, like he'd like to say more, but then he shook his head and ducked out of the dugout. "Go ahead," said Phoenix resentfully. "Tell me 'I told you so'. Tell me how my father's scum, how his behavior's unacceptable, how-" She broke off. Elliot wasn't next to her. He was in the corner of the dugout, hunched over, his eyes screwed shut and his face agonized. ◭◭◭ ◭◭◭ ◭◭◭ Two grim-faced guards approach a small, overgrown tunnel. "We're here to collect. Two infected for Stockade." There is the sound of hissing and arguing from within the tunnel. A she-cat and tom, both adults, are whispering urgently to a small black-and-white kit. '' ''"You must run," says the she-cat. "Never mention us to anyone ever again. Do you understand me, Elliot?" Frightened, the kit nods. His gray eyes are scared but absent of tears, his small face serious as he listens to his father's instructions. There is a thick green muff of plant matter around his mouth: thorrymint, the only plant known to temporarily delay the spread of firefever--sometimes effectively, sometimes disastrously ineffectively. So far, it seems to have worked, but there is no way to tell... not for a moon. "They can never know that you were exposed, never in your life," says the kit's father. "You must follow the sunset to get away from here--always West. Find the West End and settle there. Never come back to East End, never contact anyone who knew us, and never utter me and your mother's names. In time, this madness over firefever will die down... but even then, son, never let them know. Rebuild your life." There's no way of telling whether the kit understands all of this; his father is speaking so fast, and all he can think is, I want sleep, I want warmth, I want snuggling in the night and Mother's laughter and Father's stories- "TWO INFECTED FOR STOCKADE! GET YOUR SORRY TAILS OUT HERE NOW!" bellows a guard outside. Both the she-cat and the tom push the little kit back into the shadows, hiding him from view. Then they gather their little remaining strength and stagger outside. The glare of the sun throws relief on their haggard features. It's a chilling sight. Their eyes are unnaturally large in their sunken faces. Patches of their fur have fallen off. Heat radiates feverishly off their bodies. The guards back away like they've seen the living dead. Both of them wear wreaths of thorrymint. "Keep a few tail-lengths ahead of us. Move!" barks one of them. Stumbling and leaving little smears of blood in their wake of pawprints, the two infected cats begin the long, hard journey to the Stockade where they will live out the rest of their lives. Meanwhile, back in the tunnel, unseen by the guards, a pair of gray eyes watches his parents go... ◭◭◭ ◭◭◭ ◭◭◭ Phoenix padded across fields of coarsegrass as the sun began to sink over the horizon, heading for Xylite Pond. Elliot was at her side, maintaining a stony silence. He had refused to talk to her about his little freak-out back at the dugout in the morning, and she chose not to press it. Sometimes Elliot made her wonder. She had known him for a long time--since they were kits, actually. He was a very unusual cat for The Crater; quiet, with a bunch of highfalutin ideas about right and wrong, and so smart that he could've been from the North End or the Peak. She had always figured that he came from a well-to-do family, that he'd grown up spoiled and with his every need tended to... but to be honest, she never knew. All he ever said about his family was that they were gone, and indeed, she had never seen anyone at his den in all her visits. Maybe his parents had been too soft, too kind-hearted to survive in The Crater. Phoenix could only guess, because that was the one line she wasn't allowed to cross with Elliot; she couldn't ask about his family. Of course, she'd sort of crossed it last night, screaming that he had none. But she'd apologized, she thought, pushing down the uneasy feeling of guilt. Xylite Pond came into view. Usually, most Gatherings were postponed late into the night because there were about half a dozen cats who couldn't be bothered to show up for a few hours, but that wasn't the case today. Everyone was early; the sun was only half-set and it already seemed that all of West End was here, talking among themselves in anxious voices. In fact, Phoenix noticed that more than the whole of West End was here. "Who are they?" she murmured to Elliot, flicking her tail towards a group of six sleek-furred cats sitting by themselves at the edge of the pond. He stiffened. "Peak cats. They're from North End--look at the streaks of purple under their eyes. Violetberries only grow near the Peak." "What are they doing here?" asked Phoenix, an ominous feeling rising in her belly. "What do you think?" Elliot asked. "Northeners and Peak cats look down on us, and this is their worst nightmare come true: we're filthy, uncultured, and in danger of being infected with a disease that could ravage the entire Crater and then spread to the Peak. They're here to do damage control." Phoenix swallowed, knowing he was right. "I've never actually seen a cat suffering from firefever," she said quietly to Elliot as they joined the other cats at the bank of the pond. "I've seen the infected, of course, being marched to the Stockade, but I haven't actually seen the symptoms manifest. I was young in the first wave of infection, anyway. Too young to realize the details of things... but I remember the big picture. I remember the constant fear, I remember the way cats would turn on each other, desperate not to have the disease... Cats would hurt each other for a sprig of thorrymint..." "I haven't seen a cat who has firefever either," Elliot said, his voice strangely constricted. Before Phoenix could ask if he was okay, they were interrupted by a gray tabby tom--one of the group of strange Northeners. "Excuse me," he said in a stiff, bored tone. "What are your names?" "Who are you?" demanded Phoenix, ignoring his question. "And why are you asking our names? You're the stranger here; we know you and your friends aren't from West End." The tom gave her a faintly amused look. "So far I have asked seven cats the same question, and not one has actually given me their name. It's all sass, sarcasm, and defensiveness. Are all of you named things like Dirthead and Mousebrain or something?" "Anyway, you're right. I'm not from the West End, I'm a Northener. We're attending your Gathering because it concerns something that's important to all of our lives: firefever." ,He said this all calmly, but behind him, Phoenix saw his other Northener friends watching them anxiously, as if concerned that he was suddenly going to contract firefever from these dirty Crater cats he was speaking to. Irritably, Phoenix said, "Well, shouldn't you be sticking your unwanted noses into the East End, then? That's where the incident occurred." "The East End is being closed off," said the gray tabby tom. "No it's not," said Elliot immediately. "They'll use the Stockade again. They didn't close off a quadrant last time, so why would they do so now? Only three cats have contracted firefever, anyway-" "Only three cats have shown symptoms of firefever," interrupted the Northener. "We don't know who's actually infected by now. Closing off the East End would be in everyone's best interest." "Hey, Hunter! Get back over here!" called one of the other Northeners, a white tom. "In a minute, Collin!" the gray tabby tom, Hunter, yelled back. "So, anyway, what are your names?" Grudgingly, Phoenix introduced herself and Elliot. "Congrats; you're the first West End cats to tell me their names," said Hunter in a cheerful tone. "Great," grumbled Phoenix. "We're practically best friends." She was wary of this tom, exceedingly so. Despite his light, conversational tone, there was something intense in his blue eyes that made her uneasy. What were the Northeners going to say at this Gathering? Hunter gave them another easy smile. "See you." He padded back to join the other Peak cats. Elliot nudged her. "Carter's here." Blinking in confusion, Phoenix followed his gaze to a small brown tabby tom, sitting at the edge of the crowd and looking very forlorn. "But I thought--Father said that after he finished mourning Robin and Killian, he was leaving with the bandit group. Does that mean Father stayed too?" "No, I don't think so," said Elliot apologetically. "I think it's more likely that Carter's given up being a bandit. Look at him; he certainly looks dispirited, doesn't he? Flattened." Phoenix waited for another comment about how it was good that Carter was going to make something of his life instead of being a bandit, but it never came. Elliot was looking towards Xylite Pond, where a few of the oldest Westerners were clustering in the middle, ready to begin the Gathering. "Cats of West End, I'm sure every single cat here knows what we're here to discuss," started a dark brown she-cat by the name of Flicka. "Firefever is back. The older cats among us know exactly what that entails; the younger have a fairly good idea as well. As Westerners, we have a duty to protect our quadrant and make sure no one becomes part of the infected here. But there's more than that. As Crater cats, we have a duty to protect the generations of life we have built since the Sky-Fire Times. We have evolved and endured more than anyone could've dreamed possible, and we must not let our neighbors fall because of this deadly plague." Someone cleared their throat pointedly. It was one of the Northeners, but it wasn't Hunter. A short grayish-brown she-cat made her way to the front of the Gathering. Every Westerner's eyes were glued to her pelt, some in curiosity, most in anger and resentment. "Friends," she began; Phoenix flattened her ears back at the audacity she showed in using that term, and she wasn't alone. "Allow me to first introduce myself-" "Oh yes, please do so," said Flicka, voice dripping sarcasm, obviously infuriated at being interrupted. The gray-brown she-cat gave her a vague smile and crossed the distance between them, taking center stage. "I am Asta, and I have come here today with my friends, Hunter, Collin, Bea, Taiga, and Adair. We are from the Peak-" A groan rolled up unanimously from the Gathering. "- and North End," continued Asta, undeterred. "I know that we have our differences, but those hardly matter at a time like this. Firefever is back. It is spreading. And we must act, quickly, before it's too late." "Who says it's spreading?" called a burly gray Westerner who Phoenix knew only by name, Tom. "Yeah!" agreed Tom's mate, Nessa. "Be gone, you and your fear-mongering. Three with firefever and suddenly it's Sky-Fire Times again?" Asta gave Nessa a scornful look. "The times of Sky-Fire were completely different, and you know that. Just because the sky isn't constantly dropping flames and radiation doesn't mean that firefever is no threat to our survival. Besides, you know as well as I do that firefever is a result of the Sky-Fire Times. It's some freak of nature, some disease spawned by the helldrops unleashed on our world." Phoenix gulped and shuddered. She'd never seen a helldrop, but she knew enough about them to be terrified of them; all the cats had heard the tales of Sky-Fire Times, when helldrops would rend the sky in flames and explosions, sending ash and cinders into the air and destroying everything within a sizable radius. Beside her, Elliot was stepping forward. She looked at him in surprise; Elliot was normally shy around others; it was only around her that he had the nerve to yell and rant. And his voice shook as he began, "Do you know something, Asta? Do you know why we survived the Sky-Fire Times?" "Because of The Crater," she said coldly, giving him a scornful look. "Because the helldrops did not torch this place like they did the rest of the world, and we were able to survive the levels of fumes left behind." "Not just that." Elliot shook his head. "Because we had each other. Because we didn't give up on each other, because in the worst ''of times, when life was literally more merciless and painful than death, we kept going." Asta's lips curled. "How sentimental," she said. "It's not sentimental, it's the reason you stupid Peak cats have your cushy lives, letting us do all the hard work while you-" broke in Tom, but Asta stopped him, raising her paw for silence. "Cushy lives? My, my, don't you have some skewed bias," she said in a maddeningly calm voice. "We still have to hunt and face danger everyday, you know. Just because the West End is a desert, just because your home is ugly, doesn't mean you need to insult the North End. For the forests and the few places where greenery is abundant, we pay in increased predators, increased hiding places for criminals--but enough about that. We must work together, it is true, but I shan't divulge the North End's secrets to you either." "You might resent us, but the fact is, you have no real choice in a matter as serious as this. With lives at stake, you must'' listen to reason, as much as it might hurt your juvenile egos." Asta gave the Gathering a stern look. A low growl erupted from Tom's throat, and Nessa stepped in front of him as if trying to prevent her mate from tackling Asta. "The East End hasn't been sealed off yet, but as soon as I persuade the South End cats, it will be--whether you guys like it or not. Firefever cannot be allowed to spread; it will cost us far too much." "You can't seal the East End off," snapped Flicka irritably, lashing her tail. "There are still plenty of healthy cats." "Then they should get out while they can," said Asta coldly. She nodded at her five accomplices. "Hunter, get the others ready to go. We need to reach the South End by dawn." The Gathering watched the Peak cats assemble and begin walking away. Then Tom yelled, "Good riddance!" Soon, all of the Gathering was hurling insults at the Peak cats' retreating backs. Phoenix didn't join in. Instead, she turned worried eyes to Elliot. "Firefever isn't going to spread, is it?" she asked. He was chewing his bottom lip. He only did that when he was really perturbed. "I really hope not," he murmured. end of part two